


Seized Opportunities

by under_a_linden_tree



Category: Slow Show - mia_ugly
Genre: Betrayal, Gen, Missing Scene, The Inquisition - Freeform, gratuitous descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_linden_tree/pseuds/under_a_linden_tree
Summary: When Marcus is summoned to the Grand Inquisitor's castle, he doesn't expect anything good to come of it. When he is offered the opportunity of his lifetime, though, there is no price he isn't willing to pay.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10
Collections: Slow Show Metaverse, Warlock fic





	Seized Opportunities

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Slow Show](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395261) by [mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/pseuds/mia_ugly). 

> I've been wondering what led Marcus to betray William in S3. So here you go.
> 
> A massive thank you to Anti_kate for beta reading this!
> 
> As always, this would never have existed without the lovely Warlock Party House server and mia-ugly's phenomenal "Slow Show".

Some two generations ago, the village of Fortham, situated between a charming creek and a harsh hillridge, had been a very quiet place. The castle had deteriorated quickly after the last of the Forthams died. Back then, the Inquisition was still generally frowned upon, but in this day and age, the village proudly serves as one of the three seats of the Grand Inquisitor.

Marcus was born not far from here and yet he has never seen the stronghold this close. His father had been a staunch opponent of the Inquisition, sending him as far away from them as possible. They had caught up with him nonetheless.

The Bishop is watching him carefully, riding by his side. Marcus remembers a time when he had still been his favourite, under protection from all attacks. (He had needed it. The church is a ruthless place.) Now, however, he’s the one to put him in the Inquisitor’s hands.

Fortham castle had been the last refuge of the Grand Inquisitor’s impoverished maternal grandfather, shunned by society due to his quick fall and his association with what had then been considered religious fanatics. Fifty-three years later, the place is unrecognisable. Construction workers are connecting the new, impressive Barbican to the first courtyard. The Inquisition’s flag sways proudly above the keep, rich gold on red and purple ground. Even the watchmen positioned at the gate wear liveries decorated with fine stitching. The Inquisition has become rich, respected, and feared.

They are received with polite smiles and low bows. A novice leads them through vast halls hung with tapestries, scenes of Purgatory and burning heretics. They intrigue Marcus; subtle works in rich, vibrant colours, using pearls of glass for details - and yet. Yet they tell stories of painful deaths in flames and eternal damnation. Excruciatingly beautiful.

The Grand Inquisitor lets them wait for quite a while before they are led into the audience chamber. As soon as they cross the threshold, the Bishop averts his eyes and leaves Marcus on his own. He feels lost here, nothing between him and the Grand Inquisitor, apart from a wooden jube hung with purple curtains.

When the Inquisitor finally speaks, it’s a rich, velvety voice that echoes through the room. “Come closer, Brother Marcus. We have an offer for you.”

Marcus hesitates for a moment, then he closes the distance between him and the curtains. When he kneels, he can hear the Inquisitor chuckling.

“Forgive me, your Excellency, but I cannot think of anything you could offer me,” he says quickly, voice low.

If there’s one thing Marcus learned from his father, it is not to meddle with the Inquisition. Do not speak against them. Do not speak for them, either. You never know which pledge of loyalty will cost you your head.

This time, it’s not a chuckle he is rewarded with. It’s a roaring laugh, entirely without merit. The kind that shakes your heart, seeps into your bones, freezes you down to the marrow. And then it stops, within a moment.

“Think of it as an order instead. You are a noble. You are handsome. And I just so happen to know that you have dabbled in sin before.” 

Marcus swallows hard. That explains why the Bishop is here, to testify against him if need be. He has never been the most virtuous of men, that is true, but it doesn’t mean that he will admit to it easily.

“We are all sinners. Born from dust, to dust we return, expelled from the garden-”

A fist slams against wood, interrupting him with fervour.

“Do not try to best us,” the Inquisitor snarls. “You live against God’s will and worse still, disguise yourself as a man of faith. You are proud. You envy the boys who are in the Bishop’s favour now. Your hunger for revenge is boundless and you have fallen victim to lust, as the Bishop has informed us. Nevertheless, there is a way to reclaim your soul.”

Marcus is taken aback, to say the least. It hasn’t occurred to him that being a monk could be the opposite of a safe way out. And the Inquisitor is right, he is a four-fold sinner already.

What the Grand Inquisitor has forgotten to mention, however, is Marcus’s greatest fault of character: He has long ago left principles behind. They do not mingle well with boundless opportunism. And what better opportunity is there than absolution?

Behind the curtains, somebody shuffles.

“The inquisition is God’s tool to rid this earth of witchcraft and heresy. Whoever burns a heretic shall receive the blessing of His grace.” (Marcus would, of course, greatly prefer being blessed to being damned.) “As it would happen, we know of a position that has become free amongst the ranks of the Inquisition.”

The curtains rustle and the novice reappears. This time, he bears a heavy silver cross and chain in his hands, studded with red gemstones. Marcus’s breath catches in his throat - silver, the third highest rank.

“It could be yours,” the novice whispers.

Marcus clears his throat. “What do I have to do to receive this honour?”

The Grand Inquisitor snaps and the novice steps behind Marcus, clasping the necklace around his neck.

“We are certain you have heard of the Child before. It has been perpetuating the plague for too long already. A fortnight ago, we received news on the heretics who try to keep it from our reach. You certainly remember William of Neath.”

Marcus does. He remembers him all too well. They had been friends, all those years ago in the seminary. William had always thought himself a good man, or rather, as someone trying his best to be good. It had lead him to become a priest, that thought of goodness, his love for humanity. He had really believed that he could save them.

A good man is a foolish man.

A foolish man will spread the plague across the land.

William saves nobody. He kills them all.

Marcus, however, saves one person. Himself.

They had written letters to each other for years. Marcus knows much about William, his ways of life, his relatives and the places where he feels at home.

“I could find him for you, your Excellency.”

The Grand Inquisitor rises, his shoes sounding on the tiled floor. For a moment, Marcus fears that he will be left behind, that this was a trap he fell into.

“We hope that you will, Brother Marcus, for your sake. We do not care if you catch him alive, but catch him. We want the Warlock.”

The Warlock. Yes, Marcus will find this child. He will find William, too. A heretic like him is a small price to pay if it will make Marcus the Inquisition’s rising star. His opportunity has come.


End file.
